


Mid-Winter Luck

by MorriganFearn



Series: Little Islands and Territories [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/M, First Impressions, Magical Realism, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:47:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21959857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorriganFearn/pseuds/MorriganFearn
Summary: The North Sea, December 1941. On a normal trade run to Edinburgh, an irritated Åland has to rescue an Ally-occupied region at sea in German controlled waters.
Relationships: Åland Islands (Hetalia)/Faroe Islands (Hetalia)
Series: Little Islands and Territories [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1673191
Comments: 5
Kudos: 4





	Mid-Winter Luck

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fairywine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairywine/gifts).



> Originally posted January 1, 2011, on FFN. Gosh, has it really been that long since Fairywine said some things, and I acted upon them? These charmers are nearly nine years old! 
> 
> I still dedicate all things LIL to you, Fairywine. Have a lovely new year.

**Historical Note:**

Late December 1941 on the heavily mined (as in sea mines were dumped in the water, and if one hit your ship it would probably tear a hole the size of Nantucket in it) North Sea, not a fun time or place to be. A run down of the basic events on the world stage goes likes this: Germany is the dominating superpower, with no end in sight. America has just joined the war, but that's too little, too late in the opinion of everyone that matters. Russia has also joined the allies, and Finland is now the unofficial fourth member of the Axis. Almost all of Europe is under German Occupation at this point. Notable places of resistance are Norway and France, but really, it's just England, now, and the Channel Islands are in German control. England has occupied all of the former Danish territories not in Denmark proper, and built an airbase on the Faroe Islands.

On the other side of the Baltic, there is a small island (plus a lot of even _smaller_ islands) off the coast of Finland, which, while still being part of Finland, is an autonomous region that maintains Swedish culture, Åland. This territory, being autonomous, and in a great position for controlling the Gulf of Finland, and the Baltic, is in danger of being seized by either Soviet Russia (the Finns have just fought a vicious war to keep the Russians at bay, the Winter War, and now are fighting again, this time with Germany as their ally, in the Continuation War with Russia), or Germany. Åland, just as the Channel Islands were made 11 days before they fell, is a demilitarized zone, and as such should not be invaded. This particular rule of war is not very well enforced, look again at Jersey and Guernsey having been invaded after they were demilitarized. However, due to the Åland Islands' neutrality, and connection to Finland the Ålanders are free to trade with pretty much anybody, and they do.

Please keep in mind that neither of the main characters knows about the Holocaust, nor do they know about the mass graves Stalin left lying around.

* * *

**Mid-Winter Luck**

* * *

When the sun rose over the rolling winter sea, its splendor filled every corner of the world. The light spilled over the waves, and reflected from them, adding sixteen different layers of color. Mornings turned the world into one large ocean of blinding light.

Unfortunately, thought a young man, who did not seem to quite belong among the other men of the boat, and even now held apart to repair netting with methodical calmness, they still had the rest of the night to get through before the dawn could come. Just by the bite of the December air he could tell that if a squall did not hit in the wee hours, it was going to grab them before the day finished, probably before they made it into port. Of course, they were still in the mine infested waters between England and Norway. Damn. This was going to get Germany's attention like nobody's business. Sighing, he rose to ask the captain if they had their shipping manifest for Spain in order. Germans worshiped proper paperwork.

"Åland! Det är någon i havet [1]!" one of the humans came running, and Åland felt a sinking in his chest.

Tightening cold chapped lips for a moment, he tried not to think about the blown up half drowned bodies and parts that were fast becoming the daily lot of anyone on the sea. In fact, why were they worrying? Making a dismissive gesture with the knife used to slice through fouled net, the young man tried to find his human's eyes the nighttime gloom. "Så vad [2]?"

The crewman looked down at him, although his expression was obscured. "Lever. Ska vi rädda henne [3]?"

Åland blinked. Well, that put a different complexion on things. They needed to get to England, and they needed to be out of the mined waters as quickly as possible, because, should he have to check the water for mines—his real purpose on the vessel—the German was sure to sense that the öl dricker [4] was at all near the sea. Given his own relationship with the cruel mother known as Luck, Åland just knew today would be one of the days Germany would be serving with his U-boat crews. Stopping to rescue an idiot girl bobbing on the waves forced them to stay in this dangerous corridor that much longer.

On the other hand, idiot girls had to be treated with the maximum amount of kindness and generosity, especially when lost at sea—what exactly was _any_ girl doing out here, anyway? It was not as though this stretch of sea was used for pleasure cruises. The only boats who used these waters were all fishing vessels (never ask _what_ they were fishing for. Åland made it a point to say 'mackerel' whenever he was stopped by either German or English patrols). That Norwegian hadn't started sending _women_ out on his his little espionage runs, had he [5]?

Scowling, and adjusting the brim of his cap, the young man made the only decision that anyone in all conscience would make. "Ja, ja. Rädda flickan [6]," he stalked toward the bow, where he could hear a babble of voices.

Odd, it felt almost as though—then, as the humans trotted around him, shouting to pull the girl from the waves, several of his questions were answered to give rise to newer ones, as he heard a voice (yes, young and feminine) ring out:

"Finally! You'd think a girl had nothing better to do than take a dunk in the drink!"

The words resonated within his bones, speaking of green grass, teething spires of rock, snug houses, and blood washing the water with red. Damn. Damn. Damn. Luck was a fickle old dame, and no mistake.

The humans, probably more effected than he was, scrambled to haul the sopping wet thing out of the sea. The girl—nation—was complaining about the whole thing, and making an awful lot of splashing about, but that was nations for you, Åland thought, keeping back from the men, and leaning on the wall of the wheelhouse with his arms crossed, arrogant to a fault.

He wished the _Rökt Sill_ dared put on a light, so they could see what they were hauling. A light, however, was asking for trouble in the form of a torpedo. German or British, it did not matter. Sinking was sinking. A dull thunk on the deck, and the new shape in the gradations of gray stood among the rest of the humans, chuckling slightly, which was at total odds with her earlier whining about being bloody freezing. "Sorry about that. I really wish we'd met under other circumstances. This is terribly awkward, I know. Um, that was Swedish I heard, and not drunk Danish, right [7]? And, um, who should I be speaking to to explain everything?"

Annoyance twisting through him, Åland restrained an exasperated sigh, and began to stump back to his earlier post, nestled between some cargo boxes. "Kasta henne i havet [8]!" he called out to the captain, waving a hand.

"Oi, you! I think I understood enough of that to know it wasn't nice!" the girl called after him, as the men around her chuckled. "You nasty little soup drinking Swede, I'm having a bad day, if you couldn't tell, and—"

But Åland, not in the cheerfulest of moods, had already rotated his course by 180 degrees on the word "Swede" and marched back over the deck, fury rising from his shoulders. "I'm _not_ a Swede, princess," he growled, one rough finger shaking in the pale blur of her face. "We are Ålanders, and this is an Åland vessel and you can go right back in the ocean if you think for one moment longer that you—"

But the nation was already laughing (right in his face!). Another pale blur moved to wipe at wet cheeks. "I'm dreadfully sorry. I had no idea one of us was aboard," the blur, which turned out to be a clammy hand, reached out, and grabbed his finger, forcing a handshake before Åland really knew what was happening. "I'm Føroyar. You must be—" Dear God, did she have any sense of _privacy?_ He could feel her gently brushing across his forests though the skin contact, and the young region jerked his hand from her grip. "Åland Islands," the grin was almost present in her voice, and he would have bet that in the daylight her eyes would be sparkling merrily.

" _That_ was uncalled for," he growled, hiding his hand, and glad that it was not daylight. "Get off my deck."

She moved somehow, shifting her dark clad shoulders slightly, and Åland guessed that it must be heading on toward dawn. "I'm sorry. What did I do that was wrong?"

Scowling, her host wondered if it was genuine idiocy, or if she knew perfectly well what she was doing, and chose to look innocent. He doubted that the girl could invade him, but she might be after fishing rights, or something else. "Oh, nothing much, I suppose, if it's common in your part of the world to feel up your host's land. It's not in mine."

"Your part of the world can't be much fun, then," and the bluntness of the remark made him want to strangle her, even if the contents were just asking for the blood to rise in his face. "Anyway, I need a translator, and you'll do."

Pinching the bridge of nose, Åland glanced at the circle of humans surrounding them. It had gotten considerably bigger. "What? I mean really, what? First you go from insulting me to asking for a favor? Really?"

"Well, I do have to explain what I'm doing here," she shot back, shifting, and causing some sea water to splash to the deck. "And while I can make myself understood perfectly well, I don't speak Swedish, and so finding out whether or not the Captain will let me off at the next port of call is really going to be a problem. Oh goodness," she took a surprised step backward, and Åland couldn't help contemplating shoving her over the railing, "you're not Gerry [9] lovers, are you? I've been told not to get tangled up with any of those. My uncle is going to skin me alive when he finds out about this."

Åland, who obviously knew better than this girl about _everything_ , including the political situation in the region, scoffed. "I'm a neutral power, on a neutral mission, and if you think for one moment that I give a damn about your stupid war, you're mistaken. If you're very lucky, I won't order the men to drop you off in Bremerhaven [10]."

This made Føroyar draw herself upright, and probably look down her nose (which was a bit of a mistake, as she was only taller than Åland because he had a tendency to slump, and if she was looking down her nose, her eyes were probably addressing his chin, rather than putting him in his proper place. Wherever she thought _that_ was). "Oh. _Neutral_ ," Åland could practically read a footnote in her words that said: 'Oh. Cat excrement.' "I thought that you said you _weren't_ Swedish."

That was the moment when Åland broke another one of his father's rules, and hit a girl.

* * *

Dawn was just starting, but it was a gray, watery kind of dawn, trying to force its way through the barrier of black clouds on the horizon, rather than the glorious riot of color that Åland preferred. He was back to net mending, trying to ignore the slow burn of his nose as it set itself to rights. At least the splits in his eyebrows had healed quickly and the puffy bruise on his lip had gone down. Now he knew why Finland had told him never to fight with a girl. They hurt.

A weak shadow fell across him, and he looked up, cocking an eyebrow. The islands stood before him, hands on her hips, as she tapped a foot impatiently. "Look, I'm sorry about the comment I made. It was out of line."

"Huh. I'm surprised that you even were able to tell that it wasn't welcomed," the young man turned his attention back to the knotted fibers of his work.

The tapping did not stop. The shadow refused to move. At length, the other began again. "I'm not entirely stupid, you know."

Åland snorted. "You certainly had me fooled."

An exclamation of disgust, and the shadow threw its wet arms into the sky. "You sound exactly like my father. I'm _trying_ to be nice, if that had escaped your attention. I'm having a very bad day. A very bad year, if you want to know."

"I don't."

The statement must have escaped her, as she continued to talk. "So, I'm really sorry for being so snappy. I'm not usually like this. It's just being blown up and all did put me out of sorts. And now I'm on my second day without leave, and I know my uncle is just going to go spare with worry, which means I'm going to get a right talking to once I _do_ make it home."

A little put out by the excessive assumption that Åland cared at all about her problems, the island inquired dryly: "Exactly what makes you think that you're _not_ going to get dropped off at Bremerhaven?"

"Even if you did, I'm sure I could fight my way out," her blond hair was tied up in some sort of braided crown and half hidden by her round blue hat, but had it been down, Åland was certain that she would have flicked it over her shoulder like one of those American film stars. All tough talk and sarcasm ruining what beauty they had. "Gerry can't be as difficult to beat as they say."

The young man felt his mouth go dry. Was this idiot of a land seriously suggesting that she could beat the beer drinkers all on her own? He tilted his head to give her a tongue lashing, for being stupid. But the girl was not looking at him. Her dark blue eyes were trained on the equally dark sea, and the full line of her mouth had turned down into a deep frown.

He grimaced. Girls. "He is, you know."

A long sigh. "I was afraid you were going to say that. But, anyway, I know you won't put me in at a German port because your captain was good enough to try to communicate with me, and it turns out that you're heading to Edinburgh, which, I declare, is just the right neck of the woods for me to get dropped off at. If you stay on the dock for longer than fifteen minutes, you'll probably end up seeing my uncle give me what for."

Imagining the girl actually being taken down a peg made Åland smile slightly, though he tried to angle his head so that the brim of his cap blocked the expression. "I'd enjoy that. So, which one of them is your lecturing uncle?"

Føroyar walked to the edge of the boat, and leaned on the wood, staring at the dark waters. Her clothing was starting to crackle a little, and guiltily the Fenno-Swede realized that she had never changed out of her wet uniform, which was probably now freezing dry in the strong breeze. "Which one? Well, all of them, I suppose. But I'm speaking about Uncle Arthur. Ireland and Scotland have a tendency to steal my fish, so I've decided to disown them until they stop doing it and apologize. As for Wales, I just don't see him that often. Also, Arthur's the only one who goes in for lecturing in a big way. I think Scotland would, if he felt it was within his rights, but I'm really Uncle's charge. Mmm. I hope he got those extra supplies that I sent him for Christmas."

"Think bribing him will sweet his temper a bit, do you?" Åland asked from his comfortable niche between the wooden crates.

The girl made a half-amused, half irritated noise, as she shivered. "You can't say anything nicely, can you? No. He hasn't been eating well. Gerry's been visiting with the Blitz, after all. I know I haven't got much, but I can at least go fishing, and my land isn't being directly targeted or anything. I want to do something nice for him, especially since it seems that I can't do anything nice for anyone else."

Nodding, and then realizing that she couldn't see it, because her attention was on the sea, Åland cleared his throat. "I guess I can see that."

"What, no 'Buck up, of course you're useful' speech?" the wind caught her laugh, and sent it spiraling over the ocean, making Åland's stomach tighten.

His paperwork said this vessel was on a legitimate trade route to Spain. He was not going to get in trouble with the German authorities. Hell, it wasn't as though they were likely to hear her. And even if they did, so what? She was an island at sea. He had an obligation to rescue the shipwrecked. The only problem was that if the German authorities did inspect their boat, they also had a duty to help the shipwrecked. It just was _uncanny_ how many of the shipwrecked ended up taking a tour of the SS facilities.

Åland had only seen their blue uniform once, when both German brothers had gone to see his father at the start of the war. He didn't get along very well with Dad, but he had been grateful to have Tino in the room with him that day. Germany could out-stare Sweden, probably, and Prussia, in that uniform, was just a red-eyed freak. He would probably do terrible things to someone as outspoken as Føroyar.

"No, and try to remember to keep your voice down," Åland told his passenger. "Sound carries over water, and we're still too close to Denmark for that to be a comforting thought."

The girl stilled, almost as though the wind actually had frozen her against the hull. That was it, Åland hauled himself from the crates. He was going to find her something to change into. But just as he turned away, her voice called him back. "How close did I get, anyway?"

"To where?"

"Denmark, of course. What, you thought that I was out bobbing in the North Sea for the good of my health?"

Åland rolled his eyes. "No, I thought you had taken up a new form of dancing," a pause as the conversation, and his sketchy knowledge of Western history caught up with him in a rush. "Here, now, you weren't _trying_ to visit Denmark? If you hadn't noticed, he's a bit occupied at the moment. Definitely by the wrong people, if you're so anti-German."

Another thought crossed his mind. What if she had been sent to go spy on the Germans? Clearly England must be pretty desperate. Or Norway had put him up to it. Trust Norway to do that to a young lady who was clearly too naive to do any sort of spying, and would certainly be caught if she tried to walk anywhere in that silly little uniform. "Norway isn't making you do this, is he?"

She laughed again, alerting every German, who cared to hear, where she was. "Father? No. I don't think we've exchanged more than a few words for over a century, now [11]. Anyway, he wouldn't like me trying to visit Anko any more than Uncle Arthur would. He's very angry with Anko for giving up so quickly."

Åland, who had partially relaxed upon hearing that this mad scheme was her own, snorted. "Your family just sounds like a barrel full of laughs."

"Well, they haven't gotten along in a long while," she replied, her voice losing the happier over tones. "Sweden saw to that."

That made Åland look over his shoulder at her again. She had untensed, and now seemed to be drooping over the railing, one gloveless pale hand outstretched to catch the sea spray. The island swallowed. Only thirty years ago he would have come running to Sweden's defense [12]. Now, though, he could see the tall Scandinavian for what he really was, and he could well imagine that the man had done something to ruin things between Norway and Denmark.

"Well, he can be a bit of a bastard," Åland tried, and was amazed that the girl blushed. "What, seriously? Did my language offend you?"

She laughed again. "Not really. I'd just forgotten—Uncle keeps telling me that I shouldn't know those words. I'd like to know how you can work the coast without being a little vulgar, for the good of turning the air blue when life is out to get you. It's just been so long since I've heard anyone speak like that without Uncle reprimanding them and saying that there are ladies present. Ha. So long. You wouldn't think that only a year and a half could ever be all that long. Not for one of us."

"Ah, well, luckily for you, I didn't see any ladies," frowning suddenly, Åland looked out to sea. "There are mines near by. I'm going to have to do a little navigating soon, and that _will_ get us boarded. By the wrong people, with you wearing that uniform. Hang on. I'm going to find something for you to get into. Maybe, if we're lucky, they'll overlook you. You've done a remarkably good job at keeping your—your you-ness undercover. I didn't know there was an island here until you started to speak."

The young woman turned to him, taking off her hat. She did not say anything, just looked at the brim. "Well, I am just a county, really, for all that they've given me my own flag [13]. It also helps being occupied. You hardly think that occupied lands are there at all. I just wish you weren't right about the uniform. Uncle gave these to me," she mumbled. "He said I could be an honorary Wren. It even has my name on here, and everything. Oh well, I suppose life could be worse."

Leaving her in the stern, Åland went to the storage locker, looking for extra clothes. Of course, they'd have to do something about her current set of clothing, but that could be hidden away somewhere. Grabbing a passing human, he sent word of the proximity of mines, and the promise that he'd be up to take the tiller personally in a bit. Duties discharged, the young man strode back to his fellow region.

"Here," he thrust the bundle into her arms. "Get changed, and then wrap your clothes in the net I was working on. We'll pretend to be trawling for our breakfast by the time they sight us."

He turned around smartly, considering things. Once he started actively protecting the ship, he had maybe an hour before Germany sensed Åland impact on the ocean, but depending on where the powerful nation was in the waters, if Germany was on the sea at all, it would be that hour to nine before the warring nation could physically arrive. The ship was less than a day away from Edinburgh, having passed Kristiansand in the evening. But they would not be in completely British waters for another six hours, given the likelihood of a storm on the horizon.

"Are you sure your crew won't mind this?"

Risking his eyeballs, Åland inspected the sea in Føroyar's general direction. No expanse of bare skin met his gaze, and he turned to see the girl in a moth-eaten sweater, and a pair of overalls, plus rubber boots that were clearly too large for her feet. She still wore that stupid hat with 'FAROES' stamped in gold by the brim. Not that the hat itself was stupid. She looked rather smart in it, really. But it was stupid to advertise.

Gesturing to the hat, the island walked to pile of netting. "Take that off, too. As for them minding, the worst that can happen to us is we get an official escort to Vigo, which is, according to the set of paperwork the Sydstatare [14] know about, where we will be selling our wares."

Removing her hat again, the cool blond nodded, smiling in approval at the plan. "But, I've seen your cargo hold, you're not trading in anything contraband by the Reich. Why would you need false papers?"

The island shrugged. "I once met Germany when I was coming out of Liverpool and he'd been drinking. Since then I've always made it my business not to _look_ as though I'm openly trading with his enemies. Oh, I'm sure they know that half of my money comes in the form of pound notes," he tossed the net and securely wrapped clothing over the side of the ship, "but it's just like the German resistance movement [15]. If he doesn't have to confront himself, or whatever nation represents those people, he doesn't _have_ to know about it."

He began to walk towards the wheel house. As he had suspected, the girl chose to follow. Oh well, there was no law against it.

"So, the worst that will happen is that you arrive in Spain, and I'll have to trek backwards to England, somehow."

This made Åland frown. "Well, that's not quite the size of it. The worst that will happen to us is that we go to Vigo. The worst that will happen to _you_ is that you'll be handed over to Germany, and from him, probably to Prussia, given how they split their military obligations. From there? Butka [16]? Who knows," Åland couldn't help noticing that his voice had all but turned into an indistinct mumble on the last three words.

Oddly, her reaction seemed sensibly muted. "Oh."

The wheelhouse held the captain and mate, as well as another crewman, probably huddled in for the warmth. Those who had to be above deck were, the few lucky men under shelter would happily sit around badly brewed coffee and add liberal amounts of alcohol until the warmth seeped all over them. "Tack," the autonomous region nodded at them. "Jag ska navigera. Se upp för tyskarna [17]."

"Ja," the captain nodded, and they departed, just as Åland took control of the wheel, pushing his sense of himself into the water.

It wasn't anything big. Just fine tuning his awareness of the world so that man-made objects that were not of his own creation jangled on his nerves. What would be worse was when the storm broke. Then he would have to try to maneuver the water to keep it always between the sides of his boat and the mines, and really, that was technically something that only a magician should try. Father still had some of the lurking talent left, but Åland was fairly certain that he was messing with nature in ways that should not be attempted, and at some point he was going to get smacked over the wrists.

Minutes ticked by with nothing more to mark them than thoughts like _mine. Port ten degrees. Mine. Correct for starboard fifteen,_ to pass the time. Then a free patch of sea, and Åland came back to himself. His guest was standing, using her hands alone, those huge boots brushing against the ceiling with each roll and dip of the ship. He looked at her, astounded.

"Did you decide to take up a new relationship with gravity in my absence?"

Her playful face bright red from her exertion, Føroyar stuck out her tongue. "Silly boy, didn't you know he promised to step out with me the next weekend [18]? We're going to go dancing and to see a Bing Crosby film, and then he'll take me home like a gentleman, and I can wake up bight and early the next morning ready to fish."

'Silly boy' was far too familiar for Åland. The girl might be just some ignorant child under the protection of England, but she had no right to call him that. He opened his mouth, ready to tell her the first thing that popped into his head. "You're a bit too young for that, I should think."

Wait. That had nothing to do with what he really wanted to say.

Føroyar maintained the tongue. "Neh. I'm pretty sure I'm older than you. I can remember all the way back to at least 700. That was back when Father visited me all the time. I'm just working on coming into my maturity."

"Right. You're coming into maturity so quickly that I thought that you were a boy when I first saw you," of course, that was a blatant lie. He was hopping to pass her off as a boy when they were boarded, but, even with the rough pants that she had worn, the tailoring of the Wren's uniform had shown that there might be some, ahem, agricultural tracts, as it were. Very small ones, but they were there [19].

Not taking the insult to heart, the islands did something that involved scrunching her face, although he could not tell the full extent of her expression from that far away. "I am in a very good position to kick you in the head, you know."

"And I'm in a good position to grab your feet, and toss you off balance."

Said feet dipped, and Åland carefully stepped back, but Føroyar was only tucking herself into a tight ball to roll herself to the floor. She stood up once more, hands pressed flat against the ceiling. "You wouldn't have dared to say that if the war wasn't on," she informed her host.

He gazed at her blankly. What?

"W-well, I mean my anko would have beat you up for suggesting such a thing."

Not that he did not suspect Denmark of being more than capable of doing that, but couldn't this girl defend herself?

"And," she added thoughtfully, as though reading his mind, "I would have my harpoon."

Åland blinked. Her harpoon? He was not even allowed a hunting rifle as an autonomous region and she was just a county of Denmark with a _harpoon_. Jealousy aside, though, her having a harpoon could have at least meant that should she have an option should Germany see through their very flimsy defense. "Why don't you have it now?"

Her arms sagged, forcing the hands to leave the ceiling. "Uncle Arthur took it away from me. If I'm within my territorial waters I'm allowed to have a fishing rod, and even then, I have to leave it in the boat if any Germans are abroad. He doesn't like the idea of me as a target. I'm too strategically located. I don't suppose you have any cool equipment?"

Him? Weapons? Hah. "A sharpened plowshare, if you must know. If Dad and Sweden don't find out about it. Whatever comes to hand. Poland gave me a scythe once at Christmas. Russia was trying to burn all of the ones that he owned, and he wanted to keep that one. Said he'd personally beheaded seven Russians with it [20]," Åland realized that he had a large amount of grim humor bubbling through his smile.

It was Føroyar's turn to blink. "You don't have _any_ weapons? I mean, special ones, of your own?"

"And yet I can still kick you off my ship, little Miss Fishing Rod."

The door blew open, cutting off any retaliation from the girl. One of the crewmen stuck his head in, "Tysk U-båt, Landskapet Åland! [21]"

Looking at the sky beyond the man's heavy shoulder, the young region scowled. "Of course, there is no storm, yet. That will be for after. Fru Fortuna [22]. Pah."

The young lady gazed at him questioningly. "It's your ship, Åland. I await your orders."

Snorting, the ship-owning island shook his head, striding out of house, as he nodded the crewman to the wheel. "Stay quiet and in the back, and maybe the worst won't happen."

"Smart," Føroyar nodded, following him, and _already_ breaking the first order. "But, I've been thinking, and you should know that I _will_ fight him if he tries anything. You might have to get out of the way fast, if you won't get involved."

Oh good grief. At one point his shitty luck would turn. At one point. About to rip out his hair, his fingers discovered the brim of his hat. It wasn't smart, in fact, he was pretty certain that it was an ugly shade of brown, but it would cover those neat braids, and partially obscure her face, not that much would obscure her large eyes, which gave away exactly to whom she was related. He handed the cap over without a word, or looking at the young woman, stalking forward on the deck. Maybe if they were lucky, it would only be humans on the submarine.

A blond figure in gray towered among the milling humans whose voices blended into a harsh seagull chatter. He stood silently assessing everything with similarly piercing blue eyes to the ones that Åland sported. Even from this distance, the purple rings of the sleep deprived set off the fevered brightness of those mirror-familiar eyes. Ah, a nation notorious for not having the best check on his temper during war time was not getting a full night's rest. Just lovely. This spelled trouble. Why had they already thrown the net over the side of the boat? A fishnet could be a powerful ally in times of trouble, the small island clenched weaponless fists. Yeah, Åland had the worst luck in the world.

"Aland-Inseln [23]," the powerful nation nodded. "We were not told that you would be in these waters."

Åland nodded soberly in return, clasping his hands behind his back. Germanic nations only respected one thing, power, and those who did not have power had better obey. "Großdeutsches Reich [24]. Good morning, sir. We're heading to Vigo, and one does have to continue past the Danish Straits somehow, sir."

Germany briskly nodded, however he appeared troubled. "Of course. But there are other, _safer_ shipping routes, closer to German waters."

Perfect. Norway must have done something recently to set Germany in Suspicious Mode. Or France, Åland supposed, but he did not have many dealings with France, while he knew the northern kingdom by sight. It was easier to blame people you knew. Knowing someone let you see all their faults, and then guard against them.

"I understand that sir, but I had believed myself a good enough navigator to risk the shorter route."

Germany appeared perplexed. "To Vigo via the North Sea?"

Åland grimaced to himself. They were rather northward, even for a swing into the Bay of Biscay. "The currents are rough by the coast, sir. I do best on the open sea. And it is faster, despite the storms. If you wish to see our papers, I am certain that the captain is willing to show them to you, if he has not already, sir."

Germany nodded at his men, and they headed for the wheelhouse, captain's cabin, and the cargo hold. "I am satisfied with your papers, Aland-Inseln. However, there will be an inspection. The humans must-the humans must," he flagged for a moment, before his clear eyes shuttled back and forth, as though reading from an internal script, "the humans must conduct human affairs."

"Of course, sir," Åland realized that he had lost circulation to his left hand as the right had his wrist in an iron grip behind his back.

It was a small blessing, at least, that they did not know one another well enough to try for awkward conversation in these moments. Åland had listened to his father and Germany before now, and together they sounded embarrassed ever to have known one another. As though they both had met in better times, and were ashamed of what each had become, but the stifling politeness of the world would not allow either to mention it.

Still, this would be a long inspection. Germans were thorough even when they suspected nothing. "Sir, if you mind my asking," _why was he asking this? It would surely give them all away_ , "but how is De—Königreich Dänemark [25]?"

Germany's face became a study in blank confusion. "I-I did not know you knew him."

"My father was speaking of him the other day. It was idle curiosity, sir. I had believed that you would know," Åland could be proud that his voice did not tremble with the odd quiver that had possessed Der Dritte Reich.

Some how managing not to bend a single joint, Germany coughed into a gloved hand, and then returned it to his side with military precision. "He is doing well. He is very happy and friendly towards us, I have reason to believe. He drinks more than when I first knew him, but that is only to be expected, I suppose. It has been a long time," Germany paused, assessing Åland with quick dashes of sleep deprived eyes. "Republik Finnland [26] is too busy to see Königreich Dänemark, himself, I assume?"

Åland felt that one strike one of his many nerves. "I would not know, sir. I am a neutral party at his insistence, and not included in his day-to-day plans."

"Ah, yes," and rippling in the air between them was the horrible promise: _for now_.

A trotting of efficient, officious jack boots, with their horrible tall shininess interrupted the stilted conversation. One of the humans, wearing a lot of equally shiny things on his collar, so probably a man of some rank, came to Germany's side, holding out the round navy blue hat with its gold lettering. "Leutnant Schimmel hat die gefunden [27]."

"Wohin [28]?" Germany ran the little naval cap through his hands, marveling at it, as behind Åland the tension rising in Føroyar became physically palpable.

"'Swar bei der Heck im paar Kästen [29]."

Later, Åland was surprised that he had not broken his own wrist. Her hat had been in his cargo boxes? That was where he practically lived while on this vessel. The area by the boxes was sacred. How could she have forgotten to put the hat in with the rest of her clothing? How dare she leave it there in invade his personal space? He worked there. He had mended nets there. He had spoken to the sea there.

And now Germany was turning to fix him with a stare made of pure steel that could cut through earth if he put just an ounce more pressure behind it. "Explain this, Aland-Inseln," he handed the 'FAROES' stamped hat to the boy.

"A sailor is obliged to save someone who is shipwrecked, even if she is the enemy, sir," he kept his voice steady.

Germany just narrowed those drill-you-into-the-ground-for-having-done-wrong eyes. "Where is she, Lanskapet Åland?" he asked _very_ softly, doing the entire ship the honor of using their language. "Do not make me search your crew. She cannot have walked away. I would have felt such an expenditure of land rights on my sea. Nor could she have sailed away without a ship."

Åland felt something in him turn to very cold, very angry ice. "Do not step over your authority. Sir."

"Exactly how—" Germany was leaning forward now, practically looming.

The young man planted his feet firmly on the deck, and glared. It was not a master glare. He had the practice at those, but he was still far too young to really pull a full shake-you-to-your-shoes-make-you-go-home-and-rethink-your-life-choices glare. Still, for now it was the best that Åland could manage, and he could manage quite a lot. "This is my vessel, Großdeutsches Reich. As on my land, as on my sea. I am neutral territory. Will you _break_ my neutrality?"

"Your father—"

"Is your ally, but he is also my father. On how many fronts do you wish to fight your war? And, just a reminder, I am of _two_ lands, not one. Do you _wish_ to break neutrality?" he had never placed as much bile in every raging bellow he had ever sent towards Sweden as he did in that sweet, innocently suggestive final question. Something bitter was crawling around in the back of his throat, but Åland felt glorious.

They stood there for a long moment, and then Germany nodded. With a pang of horror Åland realized that the cold gaze had skated right past his wool covered shoulder, and was looking at the person directly behind him. Then Germany turned, stamping on the deck. "Na gut. Fröliche Weinachten [30]."

That tore the wind from the young man's sails. He stood gaping. "Ah-what?"

Germany did not turn around, as his soldiers hurried to their craft. "I said: Fröliche Weinachten. We are within its season, are we not, Aland-Inseln? The inspection revealed nothing against the trade embargoes on the North Sea. Getting past England's blockade is your own business, of course. I will expect to hear of you reaching Vigo by the 28th, weather permitting. And-And I will tell Denmark that you asked after him. He will be happy to hear it, I think, even when I am the messenger."

"Thank you!" that breeze through grass voice sounded so loudly in Åland's ear that he jumped slightly.

Germany muttered something to himself, possibly along the lines of "I did _not_ just hear that," but the corner of the mouth that Aland could barely see was curled upward.

Floored by absolute surprise as he was, Åland could not remove the excited hand that was squeezing the life out of his shoulder. It took the exuberant spontaneous hug that Føroyar unleashed as soon as the conning tower disappeared below the waves to even make him realize that someone was touching him, and touching him with nothing more malicious in mind than sheer joy.

"We just got away with that! Did you see it? We just got away with that! You were _fantastic_!"

Instinctively, the tall island snapped at his assaulter: "Get off me."

She did, too. Not instantly, like someone caught in a guilty act, but her squeezing arms unfolding, her body leaving his own naturally. Now he felt guilty, which was strange because he just had to bear the weight and warmth of Føroyar practically crawling on his back, and wringing his neck at the same time. Well, he probably should not have snapped at her. "I'm sorry. I just happen to be more attached to breathing than I thought."

Of course, she would smile like an idiot at that. Stupid girl. "Ah, you don't need to. We're of the land, remember?"

That statement was so true that it was a good thing that the wind suddenly whipped at the navy wool hat in Åland's hand, wrenching it back and forth, just before the storm broke. It just figured that the weather would change _after_ the Germans had come.

"C'mon, to the wheelhouse!" Åland yelled, pointing, in case Føroyar could not hear him over the lash of water.

She, gripping her borrowed cap firmly with one hand, pointed at the stern for some unfathomable reason. Her mouth was moving, but the keening wind tore sound from it. After a few agonizing seconds, she physically turned and pushed Åland in his intended direction, and as he slipped forward, she disappeared into the gathering storm gloom.

He made it to the wheelhouse, leaving the human to scurry off to below deck, as he sent his senses outward again, pushing into the water, suggesting different paths for the currents. Yeah, he probably should not do this. He had no idea what he was doing. Just asking, really. _I am Landskapet Åland, and you are the water filled ocean. We have been one once, would you please do this for me?_ But a little nudge, and a twitch around the two closest mines—the plume of sea off his starboard bow gave him time to chuckle. Soon enough he could not see with his eyes, every sense but those that jerked the muscles in his hands twisting through the ocean.

Again, in the dark, they hit peace, and he could relax his vigilance and awareness. He could still feel the waves in his veins, tugging at him, and his bones were turned to water.

Two lanterns swung from their designated hooks in the ceiling. Føroyar was peering out the forward window, wrapped in a sheet, her wet hair gleaming the color or dark honey in the yellow light. For some reason, probably because he was still half out in the sea, playing with the tides, Åland's brain did not seem to be processing everything his eyes were taking in. Still, she looked pleased, plastered to the window. Yeah, she would be the kind of person to go dancing with lightning.

"Where didja find a clean sheet on this wreck?" he finally asked.

The young woman did not turn from the window, her eyes eagerly following every strong gust made visible by the rain. "Storage locker. It was this or your secondary flag. I honestly did not care if it was clean or not."

"Oh," yes, the extra flag that he kept for identification, just in case the main one ripped, was not water absorbent, and might be a little small.

Still she did not turn. "You should change, too, once things settle down out there. You're soaking."

"As wet as a stupid girl trying to visit her father for Christmas, say?" the grin he wore probably contained volatile amounts of mischief.

That made the islands roll her shoulders in a shrug. "Possibly. Goodness, it's funny hearing him called father. He hates it. Says everyone should call him 'Anko.' 'Father' either makes him think his own is in the room somewhere, or that he's an old and bitter man, like Sweden. Just because he is the eldest does not mean that he has to be _old_ ," a finger whirled in the air imperiously, and Åland got the feeling that he was being quoted at.

Åland concentrated on the wheel, hoping that his personal frustration was not showing through on his face. "You seem very close to your family."

She laughed again, and this time he did not have to worry about who would hear. "Oddly close for a one of us, you mean?"

Close in comparison to his family, Åland thought, but did not say. "You brought odd into the conversation. Anyone need to be locked up?"

It was easy to make her laugh. Odd, in comparison to the complaints that she had been yelling while they pulled her out of the ocean. Maybe she had just be complaining to well, say something. "Oh, undoubtedly all of us. It's really beautiful outside right now. You should come and see."

"I think I prefer to stay steering this thing," Åland's voice remained dry.

"Ugh, well if you must," the sarcasm was playful. "Father use to go out and watch the storms blow in from the sea all the time. I loved it. We'd sit above the fjords—not on the tallest bits, mind. You want to have a little mountain always above you so it can hug you. He'd bring Ice there, sometimes. But, well, it was more of _our_ thing. Ice was more—No, that's not fair, to either of them. They connected more easily. They could be friends. I don't think Father ever really knew what to do with girls. He was so bad at showing affection. Anko always said he meant to be nice to me, but the way you be nice to boys is to tie them by their ankles and drop them in a well, and Father didn't think you should do that with girls. So he just left me to be whoever I was, and it turned out both of us liked weather, so it worked out that we could be happy when weather was really _happening_ , you know?"

Åland had gone silent. Not out of pity, or curiosity at the way her voice was rambling into near tears. No. At whatever age she had been while watching thunderstorms, he had been watching his father grow angrier and angrier with the great man who had loved him, and would come back and rescue them Åland was sure of it. Of course, Åland never counted on the fact that they could rescue themselves, or that Sweden didn't want him. Everyone had wanted this girl, it seemed. Deranged Denmark, neurotic Norway, and now evil England. God above, he was _jealous_ of Føroyar. He needed a life.

"What about you?"

The question arrested him, and he gazed blankly at Føroyar for a moment. "Mm? What about me?"

Now she turned toward him, blanket clutched tightly around her shoulders, and bunched in front where her fist tangled in the cloth, and oh wow, she wasn't wearing anything but the blanket, he realized in shock. Well, that was fine. She was an island near enough to full grown, and could defend herself, and anyway, it was not as though anyone could see her. It would be very unpleasant for any human coming through the door just now, though.

"I mean, what about you? Your family? We've been nattering on about mine non-stop. Don't you want to talk for a change?"

Ah. Now that was making him more embarrassed than the realization that she had very nice strong legs somewhere under the blanket. "There isn't much to tell."

"Even so, I'd love to hear it. I miss my family so very much, and well, I like hearing about anyone who wants to talk about it."

Åland cleared his throat noisily. "Really, there is very little to tell. My family history goes something like this: Me and my dad living awkwardly together after he realized I existed. Russia constantly trying to convince my dad that he belongs to Russia, and then a load of violence, and here I am."

Føroyar stared at him. She wrinkled her nose, then, and stuck out her tongue. "Seriously, even I know that you're being evasive. I have heard a _little_ about you, after all."

Her host just shrugged. His hands read the waves through the steering wheel. "Let's just say I really don't know you well enough to go into the rest, okay?"

She seemed to accept that, and turned back to the storm. It was quiet. Åland could pay attention to the sea, and just be himself. He watched his guest by lantern light, and wondered when the sun would come back. Here and there a white lance flashed through the clouds, but nothing permanent, and it was always swallowed by the rain.

“You're nearsighted, aren't you?” she surprised Åland by remarking.

Surprising him must be the Faroese stock in trade, he thought. Bubbling behind that thought was an odd—always odd, everything about Føroyar could only be odd—collection of feelings. Did he, stodgy, grumpy, unimaginative Åland, like being surprised? By someone who noticed him, who declared her thoughts almost as soon as they developed? By someone who loved watching storms?

Yes.

Another wave crashed into the boat, just as the sun broke through a cloud bank, to shine directly on his eyes. Wincing away from the light, Åland tried to shrug. She noticed too much, and what if she took his enjoyment of her temporary company as an invitation to stay longer? She might stay long enough to decide she did not like to be scowled at, or the way he spoke was too rough, or his temper too short, or all the flaws would burn into visibility suddenly, in front of a girl smart enough to notice that he squinted just a little too much.

“It's not a problem,” Føroyar assured him. “Sorry, I was curious. Rationing isn't bad where I am, not yet, really, but getting glass ground is hard. I was just wondering—”

Åland shrugged once more. But, no, he should be polite. “Ah, just. Maybe I look odd in spectacles. It doesn't get in the way of my work, generally.”

She nodded, as though it all made sense to her. He wondered what it was like: the rationing, the work of the people of her land, the curiosity that lived in her head. Maybe he'd visit her islands some day, once things calmed down, and see what made Føroyar free and interested in the wild world around her, all at the same time.

"Is that why you're neutral, then?" the girl asked, biting at a nail distractedly. "Not because of the 'load of violence' stuff, but because of your work?"

Åland scowled at the way 'neutral' was clearly synonymous with 'cat-doings' in her mental vocabulary. His neutrality had probably just saved her. Plus, she was trying to psychoanalyze him. "No."

"Then why?" she rounded on him. "You _can_ kick butt when you want to. I just saw you do it with nothing but your own stubbornness. Why are you still neutral? Even America isn't neutral anymore, and his house is on the other side of a very _big_ ocean."

"You know, there's nothing _virtuous_ about saying you're for or against someone!" Åland shot back. "Nor is there anything wrong with saying that you don't want to get involved. My father said I couldn't, and he was right, and even if he hadn't been, I'm doing much better than if I had chosen a side. Everyone pays _me_ to ship their goods for them. Have you thought of that? I'm _nothing._ I'm just a bunch of islands that are frozen half the year! This war has been great for me. I'm getting paid by your precious Uncle to ship cargo to him, and in a few days I'll be sailing down the Spanish coast to sell what I've picked up from him to Spain, and then I'll put in at a German port, and sell to them. Neutrality is good to me!"

"What can be good about not picking a side? You should be making a stand! Gerry is foul. You admitted as much to me yourself, with all that 'how they split their military duties' nonsense!"

He could feel his temper flaring at the edges, and he tried to reign it in. This girl who invaded his personal territory as though it was of no consequence was far too irritating. "Exactly what makes you think I would be on _your_ side, Føroyar? If you haven't noticed, my father is Axis!"

Her cheeks had blossomed reddish orange in the lantern light. "Then your father is a horrible person! You would be on our side because you _hate_ their side. I saw you with Germany. I saw your face when he wasn't looking. You are disgusted by him, and you would never be an Axis member!"

If there hadn't been a ship to steer, Åland would have attacked her. He would have probably gotten his ears handed to him, but he would have attacked her. "My father is a _good_ man! How dare you say anything against that? You don't even know him! I've spent years being angry with him, sometimes even hating him, but I know he is a _good_ man! Anyone who fights Russia is a good person! Anyone who protects other people is a good person! I am neutral, but I do not walk away! I am strong enough to continue going forward _neutrally_ , and I didn't bring myself to that point in my life where I can do that. My father is a _good_ man."

"Is Germany a good man then?" Føroyar's mouth was set in a mulish line, and he got the impression of cross armed stubbornness, even though she could not cross her arms while clinging to her sheet.

Åland fixed his eyes on the horizon, scowling. " _Anyone_ who is fighting Russia is worth respecting. _You_ should be, too. Instead, you're _allied_ with him," now he was the one implying animal waste.

"Germany took my family from me," her eyes were burning a deep blue that was slowly turning black in the bad light, as she laid that card on the table, daring him to defend the act of war time necessity.

Get over it, Åland wanted to snap. Get over it, you spoiled little girl. But he wasn't going to say that. This war would work out, one way, or the other, and he would be in the safe position of not being on either side. He didn't need to defend that. Especially not to someone brave enough to try to get across a mine infested sea, plan to fight the full might of Germany on a boat belonging to another nation, and then go back and face the wrath of her over-protective uncle. She hadn't succeeded with her plans, of course (except for the last bit. Åland intended to enjoy watching someone cut her down to size. He might even take notes). But was success in the end of the journey, or the journey itself?

Probably both. "Yeah, I know. And he's probably going to take over the world, unless people like you stop him. But the lesser of two evils is my brother in arms, as the saying goes."

This snapped the rising tension. Føroyar used the corners of her eyes to great effect in conveying exasperation. "The saying does not go that way. You're just making it up."

The young man shrugged. "We'll be in Edinburgh before the next morning, with this weather. You ready for that?"

"I think so. Uncle Arthur will be furious."

Åland chuckled. "Well, next time think before you plan a sea jaunt through a war zone, then."

Føroyar leaned back, relaxing her body. "I don't know. I met you, didn't I? And even if you are a difficult, annoying, cranky, not-nice guy, you're absolutely fantastic, too, and just a bit pretty when you aren't all scowly, so, I think I came out tops over all. Faroes: Nine. The world: Zero."

Pretty? Åland choked. He was not pretty. He especially didn't want Føroyar calling him that. Pretty? He was _not_ pretty. Then he saw her eyes. They were laughing at him. He wondered, belatedly, if she could read his mind. Probably not. "All right, what are the other eight times?"

"Um, well. Just being me is obviously one, two is Norway finding me and Greenland, and three is Anko just being Anko, and four is when I first met Iceland and scared him into thinking that I was going to eat his puffin, and five is when I got acquainted with Uncle Arthur because he had to bribe me with chocolate, and six is the very best sunrise I ever saw, and seven is my people being my people, and eight is my land being my land."

Ten, thought Åland. "You know, your harbors are on the way between my land and England. Well, the northern bit anyway. If I make any stops to Scotland, I might stop by. Just to see if you're doing something more ludicrous that I need to get you out of."

Føroyar grinned. "Well, then. Let's start a new tally. Faroes: Nine. The World: Zero. Åland: One."

He considered it, and considered the fight they had just had. "I don't think I've really come out on top of anything."

"You're acting like a really good friend," Føroyar replied, her eyes hooding lazily. "That's entirely tops."

The island turned his head as the lantern to his right swung. Mainly, though, it was to hide his smile. If that was the criteria for getting points, he suspected that Føroyar would probably always be at plus ninety, or so. Give or take a hundred

.

* * *

Translations and Footnotes

[1] - 'Åland! Det är någon i havet' is Swedish for 'Åland! There is someone in the sea!' I should point out, I abused Google Translate to its utmost, here, and I don't speak Swedish, or the Åland-Swedish dialect that they _should_ be speaking. I'm sorry for any mistranslations, all corrections are welcome.

[2] - 'Så vad?' should be the Swedish equivalent of 'So what?' or 'And this matters to me how?' I translated it from the German 'Na und?' and hopefully the derisiveness came across.

[3] - 'Lever. Ska vi rädda henne' is Swedish for 'Alive. Should we rescue her?'

[4] - 'öl dricker' is Swedish for 'beer drinker.' Åland is used to stronger poisons.

[5] - The Shetland Bus was the code name for fishing vessels that ran British agents, and Norwegian refugees between Shetland and Norway during the occupation. They traveled at night without showing lights during the heaviest of storms, in the mine and U-Boat infested North Sea starting in 1940 and had not been stopped by 1945. On the Norwegian side, the agents were prepped for infiltrating Germany and worked with Norwegian agents and the resistance.

On Åland's views as to why he is offended by Norway potentially putting a woman in danger: The Finns had a corps of female nurses and general care-takers in their army, and these brave women were notorious for not touching firearms and being engaged only in non-violent actions, such as healing and bandaging the wounded. To attack one of the Lotta Svärd was considered as heinous as attacking a member of the Red Cross. By the end of the war, however, the Lotta had trained a brigade of women for combat readiness because the Finns needed the manpower, and because the enemy soldiers no longer observed the niceties of war. In certain ways that he'll never admit, Åland shares many of his father's conventions of this time period.

[6] - 'Ja, ja. Rädda flickan' is Swedish for 'Sure, sure. Save the girl.'

[7] - One of the more tactful insults that the Danes have for the Swedes is that any drunk Dane can speak Swedish (the Swedish version is that anyone can speak Danish as long as they haven't swallowed the potato they just ate). But keep in mind, these Ålanders are speaking their local dialect of Swedish, and Faroes is most familiar with her island dialect of Danish. The mutual intelligibility between the languages is greatly reduced.

[8] - 'Kasta henne i havet' is Swedish for 'Toss her in the sea'

[9] - 'Gerry' is a typical British slang word for Germans during this period. Among the older generation that served in the First War you will more typically find 'Hun' and 'Kraut.' I've generally seen it spelled 'Jerry,' but the G-variant is out there, and I think it makes the word play easier to understand.

[10] - Bremerhaven (pronounced Brey-mer-hah-fen) is the sea port for the city of Bremen. It had experienced some Allied bombing, but nothing significant yet. By the end of the war most of it was reduced to rubble, except for the bits that the Allies wanted intact for when they invaded, as the port well situated for Western shipping interests. This city was a base of the Kriegsmarine, and tended to be home port for U-Boats in the North Sea and Baltic.

[11] - When Denmark had to cede Norway to Sweden in 1814 all of the formerly Norwegian Islands, like Faroes, remained with Denmark.

[12] – Even as Finland began to form its own national identity while it was a Grand Duchy of Russia, Åland maintained its ties to Swedish culture. Romanticism for folk ways hit Europe in a big way in the 1800s, after the Napoleonic Wars, and the Finns began to circle around an idea of Finnish-ness, while Ålanders went in the other direction, idealizing Swedish ways in Finland before the separation in 1809. When Finland split from Russia the Ålanders loudly wanted Finland to return to Sweden, to which the majority of Finns said no, they were their own people, and they should be their own nation. And when Åland tried to join Sweden and split from Finland the response from the Swedes was luke-warm at best. Sort of: "Well, if you really want to, but talk to the League of Nations first. Hopefully you'll remain a part of Finland." Now, I have some personal head!cannon explanations as to why Berwald made those decisions, but that's for other times and other fics.

[13] - Like Åland, Faroes has its own flag. This flag was granted by England while Faroes was under occupation so that supply ships from Faroes could come and go in the North Sea and British controlled waters without being shot at by the British. Given how adamant the British government was that Faroes should remain in Danish possession until the Danish government was in a state to determine otherwise (i.e. not occupied by Germans) and not strike out for freedom on its own, or under British rule, the granting of a flag was a huge concession.

[14] - 'Sydstatare' is Swedish for 'Southerners.' I wish I knew more about Åland-Swedish slang for 'Germans.' Probably I should be using some very clever variant on 'Tyska.'

[15] - There were several German resistance groups against Hitler, ranging from violent to non-violent. I generally focus on the Kreisau Circle, based in what was then Silesia. They believed that Germany would _lose_ the war, and lose it badly, so they worked to formulate a German constitution, and peace for after the war that would avoid the problems that had been created by the First War, and partitioning of the German State. Now the people at Kryzowa (Kreisau is now a Polish town) work on German-Polish reconciliation.

[16] - 'Butka' is one of the few truly Åland-Swedish words I was able to find. It is a Russian-loan word and means 'jail.' Many of the Russian-originating words in Åland-Swedish are just about as cheery.

[17] - 'Tack ... Jag ska navigera. Se upp för tyskarna' is Swedish for 'Thanks. I shall navigate. Keep watch for Germans.'

[18] - 'To step out with someone' is WWII era slang for 'go on a date with someone.'

[19] - Faroes is not known for its arable land. If we are to go by the Ukraine, Faroes is exceedingly flat chested.

[20] - During the January Uprising of 1863 Russian troops attacked a gathering of Polish farmers armed only with scythes. The Poles were naturally crushed, but the casualty rate was incredible. Turns out that farming implements in the hands of determined Poles are absolutely fierce.

[21] - 'Tysk U-båt, Landskapet Åland!' is Swedish for 'German U-boat, Aland Islands!' 'Landskapet Åland' is Åland's full official name.

[22] - 'Fru Fortuna' is Swedish for 'Dame Fortune'

[23] - 'Aland-Inseln' is German for Aland Islands

[24] - 'Großdeutsches Reich' is German for 'Greater German Empire' and the official name of Germany at this point. The 'Greater' part refers to the incorporation of Austria. Åland uses German here as a reflection of Germans forcing their language on their Allies (i.e. Finland) as much as possible. Were he to use Swedish terms, or even the 'nation language' names, Germany would take it as an insult.

[25] - 'Königreich Dänemark' is German for 'The Kingdom of Denmark' and Denmark's official name.

[26] - 'Republik Finnland' is German for 'The Republic of Finland' and again, Germany has full formality on right now.

[27] - 'Leutnant Schimmel hat die gefunden' is German for 'Leutnant Schimmel found this'

[28] - 'Wohin' is German for 'Where?'

[29] - ''Swar bei Der Heck im paar Kästen' is German for 'In some of those boxes by the stern.'

[30] - 'Fröliche Weinachten' is German for 'Merry Christmas.'


End file.
